No Expectations

I read through them religiously, and felt somewhat prepared for the big event. Then we had the baby, and amidst the tumult of adapting to our lives being turned completely upside down, the books assumed their permanent place in the wall case. Oh, sure, when the baby was sick, or starting foods, or we needed to check up on the timing and symptoms of certain milestones like teething or first steps, we opened up one of the books for quick reference.

Before the birth, the books seemed so important, while afterwards, the new life itself taught us most of what we needed to know.

I remember a line from one of the books on toddlers, where a father wrote in to ask, "What should I expect from my two-year old?" I don't recall the answer, but the question itself now strikes me as typical of the mindset most of us have to ourselves, our children, and life itself. What should I expect from life? Tell me!
    
There is no sourcebook to life or parenthood. Unfortunately, whenever parents of young children or babies get together, they immediately start comparing the achievements of their young ones. It can't help but make the parent of the child who is a little 'behind' feel insecure, and even begin to worry about the health and development of their baby.

Other parents, of course, are a great source of information about what one's own child may be going through, coming from their own experience with their kids. I remember feeling a little anxious when my son hadn't begun to walk by the time he was a year and a half, since all the other children we knew, and those at his day care, had begun well before. If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that my anxiety didn't help him take his first steps.
     
There's a trend of trying to prepare our children for success earlier and earlier in life. I recently read of 'Ivy League Nursery Schools,' which promise parents that their children are getting a head start in the intense competition to gain admittance into the top universities.

It seems humorous, even a satire of the education system, but it's all too true. The drive for success, and the expectation of its attainment, are inculcated into contemporary children from a very young age. These children grow into a world of expectations which are nearly impossible to fulfill. That is the extreme, but it is more helpful to look at our own children and try to examine just how our expectations may block us from appreciating who they are unto themselves.
    
I grew up with a beautiful grand piano in the house, which my father and sister played. I took lessons for a short while and quit, unable to find the discipline necessary to get beyond the learning of initial technique. When I reached adulthood, I began to regret not having learned the instrument when it was most available, and when most good musicians become proficient - during childhood.
I took on another instrument, but picking up music as an adult is often an exercise in frustration - you know what you want to sound like, but you're far from there. When I had kids, I made the resolution that I would not deny them the opportunity I had spurned, and I would provide them with music lessons from an early age.

Recently we bought a used piano, and with much hope I began to play a little when the kids were playing in room. I believed my son would be a musician - I was starting his exposure at four, so why wouldn't he?

Well, he's his own man, so to speak. Piano? Not so interesting. He wants to be an astronaut. I invite him to sit with me and bang around the keys a little, but he drifts to his space books and toys.
    
If I am honest with myself, I admit that I would like my children to be musicians, to be intelligent, to grow up to be articulate and sensitive, and to have a host of other sterling qualities. When, however, I just look at my children and listen to them play and laugh, there is only one thing I truly want for them. I want my children to be happy. A happiness that causes no harm and increases the happiness of others in its wake.      

The underlying issue in expectations and the ideas we carry about others, about our children, is that of trust. I need to invest my trust in them, the trust that they can discover their paths and be true to themselves, including all the mistakes and pain they may experience along the way.

I will always have some expectations, but they need not interfere with the unique path my children are on - their paths, and not mine. One of the ways we can allow this is by becoming more attentive to our children as children, not as potential adults or little versions of ourselves. A verse by William Blake from his Songs of Innocence encapsulates this sentiment:

When voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.

It is my listening deeply to the voices of my children, and to the voices of the children in each one of us, that gives me a sense of peace and well-being. The perspective of a world seen through fresh eyes, without comparison, stills the grating refrains of our preconceptions and ideas of who they are and who we ourselves are. Then there is greatness without any expectation, touching upon a full, happy heart.